Moby Jane

Michael Williamson was Reference Librarian at the National Library of Canada in Ottawa.

Gerry Gilbert and Coach House are putting me on with their smartass press release about Moby Jane (get it? Moby Dick and Moby Jane, see Spot run, etc.). OK, OK. But what I’m left with is a rambling 268-page journal / poem that has to be one of the most self-indulgent pieces of work I’ve seen in a long time — and God knows there has been enough to compare it with. Victor Coleman edited this book and it’s right up Victor’s alley: bizarre and seemingly unending, in parts brilliant, and in parts completely frustrating and downright dumb. The press release — written by none other than Mr. Gilbert himself — calls this a lyrical novel or “told story” about an “adventure of discovery, in the language as well as in the world.” Well, the book moves a great deal, all over Canada, in and out of beds, it spews forth puns and tells secrets and muses, it gossips, it leches, it speculates, gets angry, makes coffee, eats, provides details, details, details of living every day for a year. It attacks, it caresses, it is persuasive and it’s full of shit. If a reader has lotsa time and a partially bent mind, there is a goldmine here somewhere, and a poet who streaks on ahead with inventiveness and imaginative power. And then: wham: a crashing halt and self-conscious doggerel comes out as an excuse for nothing to say because nothin’ much is goin’ on here. Ah, be patient, read on, don’t be so damned critical even though you’re supposed to be reviewing this magnum opus. Victor, Victor this book needs an editor I end up mumbling to myself — who has this much time these liberal days we are all unfortunately stuck in. So, on I go:

the phone goes
the taps & drains go
the furnace goes
the electricity goes
the fridge goes
the radios go
one of the tv’s goes
the record player comes & goes
the hotwater heater goes
all the swingin’ hinges and groovin’ rollers in all the kinds of door go
the clocks go
the stove goes
the windows go
I go
“ghosts”

Am I screaming or laughing? Both. Not a whole lot of this is memorable, but some of it is sure a lot of fun to zip through. The playfulness is enthralling after a while. I will not recommend this because neither Gilbert nor Coleman would hear of it. Moby Jane indeed: the hell with both of you. Don’t gloat because it sort of works and is sort of necessary. Never say die, eh?